Going Hungry
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: It was nobody's fault, but sometimes comments made by people stick and stick. Victoire struggles with an unhealthy relationship with food. Psychological!AU.


**Going Hungry**

 **Word Count:  
** **Written For:** 1,399 **  
**Hogwarts Open Day - Divination, Crystal Balls (fourth year): Write about the Next Generation.  
September Event: (plot) Being Sorted

* * *

 _she was  
_ _drowning  
_ _but nobody  
_ _saw her  
_ _tears._

* * *

She was five, and it started with one little comment.

"I love this dress," Victoire exclaimed happily, spinning around wildly in front of the mirror. She was wearing a frilly dress in pastel pink, which had a large white bow around the middle. The dress was being picked out for her to wear to the renewal of her maternal grandparents wedding vows. "Do you like it, _Grandmère_?" she asked, turning to face her grandmother.

Apolline Delacour furrowed her pale eyebrows, a frown spreading on her gaunt face. She was a tall, slender woman, with light blonde hair that was threaded heavily with strands of snow-white. "Ah, _je ne sais..._ what about 'ze lovely blue one, _ma chérie?"_

"No," Victoire crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "I want _this_ one." She stomped her foot angrily on the ground, and Apolline pursed her lips as the shop assistant glared over.

"Bah, _pour l'amour du ciel!"_ Apolline hissed, a term which loosely translated to 'for heaven's sake!'. Victoire continued to glower at her grandmother—she was used to getting exactly what she wanted with her mother and father, and no amount of angry French would change her mind about what she wanted.

Apolline grasped her granddaughter by the shoulders and steered her towards a larger mirror a few metres away. She poised Victoire in front of the glass, standing behind her and making eye contact with her. "Look," she started, taking the bow between her hands and tightening it. Victoire grinned at her reflection, apparently unaware of the meringue-like appearance the puffy dress gave her. "'Eet makes you look all... _potelé._ Plump."

As soon as the word left Apolline's lips, Victoire's face fell.

Instead of leaving the shop with the meringue dress that she had wanted, Apolline bought her the blue one.

oOo

She was nine, and she knew that her sister hadn't meant to hurt her.

Victoire was playing in the front garden with her brother and sister. The sun was glimmering off the bright blue ocean that stretched out miles in the distance, and birds were singing overhead. It was by all means a wonderful day.

She laughed wildly as her youngest sibling, Louis, charged around the garden, chasing Dominique. When he finally caught up with her, he reached out with his chubby hands and grasped the back of her shirt, causing her to stumble and fall flat on the grass. They both giggled loudly, and Louis collapsed on top of her.

Desperate not to miss out on the fun, Victoire rushed over and dived on top of her siblings. "Pile-on!" she screeched, and Louis squealed with laughter.

Suddenly, Dominique began to groan and pull faces from beneath the stack of part-Veelas. "Get off, Victoire! You're too fat!"

Victoire couldn't recoil from her siblings quick enough.

oOo

She was eleven, and she had begun to detest mealtimes.

It was three days before she was going to be taking the train to Hogwarts for the first time. For a treat, Bill and Fleur had invited her paternal grandparents over for dinner, and they were all sitting around the table.

"You're looking ever so lovely these days, Victoire," gushed Molly, who was sitting beside her oldest granddaughter. "Such a lovely head of hair." Victoire hung her head as she smiled shyly, allowing her long sweep of ice blonde hair to cover her reddening face.

Fleur came bustling into the room after they had finished their main meal, a variety of desserts floating out behind her on platters. They arranged themselves across the table neatly, and everyone began to tuck in.

Amidst the desserts was Victoire's favourite; Tiramisu. It wasn't often that Fleur cooked such treats, so she helped herself to an unusually large serving.

"Mum, Victoire's taking all of the Tiramisu," Dominique whined, eyeing her older sisters plate. Victoire rolled her eyes—Dominique didn't even like Tiramisu.

"Victoire, don't be greedy," Fleur muttered as she cut a centimetre-thick slice of Victoria Sponge for herself.

Victoire froze where she sat, and didn't touch another mouthful.

oOo

She was eleven, and today was the day of her Sorting.

Anxiety rippled through her as she sat in front of the rest of the school on a hard wooden stool. Professor McGonagall slipped an old, moth-eaten hat over her head.

She couldn't bear everyone staring at her. She could feel her fat thighs spreading over the narrow stool, knew that her double chin would be bulging with the way her head was held, and that rolls of flab would be forming from her seated position. She could almost hear the whispers around her.

" _Fat."_

" _She's enormous!"_

" _Urgh, someone stop feeding her."_

"Ravenclaw!" the Sorting Hat roared, and McGonagall tore the hat away from her head. Before anyone could stare at her anymore, Victoire charged to her seat, her face glowing.

oOo

She was thirteen, and sitting down for the Hogwarts Halloween Feast.

The ceiling, bewitched to mimic the night sky, was jet-black and featuring a huge, red blood moon. Eerie grey clouds fanned around the full moon, and stars twinkled in the background. Amidst the chatter of the Great Hall, Victoire could hear sounds, no doubt charmed to be there by the teachers. Werewolf howls, witch cackles, and miaowing echoed through the hall.

The floating candles illuminated the vast spread of food on the tables. Cupcakes, kebabs, cookies, burgers, pasta, meatballs and more Tiramisu than Victoire could dream of filled the four tables. But she wasn't planning on touching a bite.

"Aren't you going to eat something?" her friend Penelope Finnigan asked. She had dark brown eyes which stared at Victoire knowingly—she was aware of the unusual relationship that Victoire had with food. Victoire smiled brightly.

"Oh, I've already eaten!" she exclaimed. "I ate a lot at lunch." She knew that Penelope hadn't been around at lunchtime, due to wanting to catch up on her History of Magic homework.

Lying had become second nature to her. People didn't often notice that she skipped meals, but if they did choose to ask why she wasn't eating, she always had an excuse at the ready. She had already eaten. She wasn't hungry. She didn't like what had been put out.

Talking a lot helped, too. She would ask her own questions whilst pushing her food around her plate, but never actually putting a forkful in her mouth.

People didn't see what they didn't want to see.

"You've got to try the pasta," Penelope pressured, reaching out and grabbing the ladle in the pasta sauce. She dumped a spoonful on the plate in front of Victoire.

Victoire squirmed. The spaghetti morphed into a pile of worms in front of her eyes; the sauce clotted into blood; the meatballs turning into chunks of flesh. Her stomach turned.

"Just take a few mouthfuls."

Victoire took a breath and picked up her fork, lifting a small amount to her mouth. Right before it touched her lip, she paused. "Did you manage to get your History of Magic work done?"

Penelope quickly launched into a rant about Professor Binns, and the rest was history.

oOo

She was fifteen, and supposed to be studying for her O.W.L examinations.

Instead, she's in a hospital bed. Her mother, father and grandparents huddle at her side, wondering what on earth it was that could have happened to make their daughter stop eating.

She was unconscious, with several wires poking out of the stiff nightshirt she was wearing. They were attached to a bleeping machine with her heart rate visible on the monitor. Another tube was inserted inside her nose, a method that was forcing nutrients into her body, until she would be healthy enough.

She was never 'fat'. Victoire was skeletal; her bones poked through her translucent skin and her face was hollow and gaunt. But her true appearance wasn't reflected in the mirror.

Fleur and Bill held each other as they sobbed at her bedside.

What on earth had happened to their daughter?


End file.
